Steadfast
by Bewitched Nightwalker
Summary: The world of Gryffindors should be peaceful,a utopia,but when the veil separating worlds begins failing,the snakes' world of grief,pain & chaos leaks through. Ginny Weasley takes the blunt force of the grief; she's the protector,the savior,& maybe more?


_**Disclaimer: I do not own characters, places, or anything else from the Harry Potter series. I simply own the plot and any characters I make up along the way.**_

**Prologue**

_Stand steadfast, bud. Nothing in this world can hurt enough to knock you down._ These words stay with me my whole life. My granddad would say this to me every time he saw me. I can still remember him sitting in a big recliner with me kneeling in front of him with wide, bright eyes. He would reach slowly into his pockets, one at a time, pretending not to be able to find anything. No matter how many times I sat before him, I had always experienced that sinking feeling, the loss of hope, with each pocket turning out empty. Then he'd reach out and pull a piece of chocolate encased in gold wrapping out from behind my ear and say, "Stand steadfast, bud. Nothing in this world can hurt enough to knock you down."

So whenever I was in a tight spot, his words floated back up in my memory. Stand steadfast, bud. Cheerleading tryouts at my muggle school when I was eight and I was nervous; auditions for the ballet school I wished to attend at nine; my first year at Hogwarts when I did not quite fit in at first; and my quidditch tryouts, the first girl on our team in two decades, and the youngest. I used it most when my granddad died of a heart attack.

_Stand steadfast, bud._

I moved through the motions. A twelve year old zombie with a vampire's ethereal beauty. A photographer came the day of the funeral. Who would want to miss the service of a great Weasley, a funeral for a beloved member of the Gryffindor family? There is one photo I wish had not been taken, but it also is the one I cherish most.

Clothed in a black halter dress that covered a chest I should not have had at thirteen, reaching to my knees in flowing fabric, I was kneeling beside the coffin as it was lowered into the warm dirt. The skirt of my dress fanned out around my legs which were folded under me; my hands were clenching the grass and my head was thrown back in a scream of agony. I do not need a picture to remember that day, that hour, minute, second. It all stands out perfectly in my memory, and I know the photo captured the moment exactly as I was feeling.

In the photo, my eyes were clenched shut like I wanted to open them but could not. My dark red curls fell around my face and over my shoulders. My cousin says I looked like a dark goddess in mourning, that I sounded like one, too, with how sharp and loud my scream had been.

_Stand steadfast, bud._

I tried, Granddad, I did. I could not though, at that moment, hold it in. I had placed a red rose on your coffin last. I was being led away by my mom when I ran back and fell to the ground and screamed with all my might. Like that could really bring you back.

_Nothing in this world can hurt you enough to knock you down._

How untrue those words are! The only thing in this world horrible enough to bring the strongest of men down is pain. The pain of grief, of hopelessness, of being torn apart from someone you love like a sweater being ripped apart stitch by stitch. And pain is not of this world. Pain is from another world entirely that is sent over by horrid, power hungry men who feed off of and enjoy others' grief. I learned fast to not anger these men by being happy. They punish the happy just to see their smiles turn to frowns, to see the light in someone's eyes dim. They punish because they can. They rule the grief where no one rules the happiness; they can counteract the emotions we place in ourselves, but we cannot counteract the emotions thrown in by an outside force. They match our fight step for step, like an eternal dance of trying to run to happiness, being blocked, climbing the wall in our path, being yanked back down, and it goes on and on.

As much as I learned not to anger these men, I also learned how to fight them. I could match their steps as easily as they matched mine. The more I fought, the more grief and pain was sent my way. This was our circle. They sent the pain, I fought, they sent more, I fought harder. And this…this is my story of my fight and where it ended up bringing me in the great circle of life.


End file.
